The Night Before Prom…circa 1989

This is Part 2 of my three-part series about my high school prom. For my American readers, please note that the legal drinking age in most parts of Canada is 18 (hence, I wasn’t breaking another law by imbibing). If you missed Part 1, it’s here: My Prom Date, circa 1989. Part 3 will be posted Friday.

All goes well enough until the night before the prom. When Option Z, my date, doesn’t turn up to help erect my tent for the after-prom party (as he promised), it quickly becomes clear that my life bears little resemblance to all those Danielle Steele novels I read when I was too young. I manage to set the tent up on my own in the rain and leave, driving down the highway until I see flashing lights in my rearview mirror.

“Where you headed?’ Officer Noseworthy asks. I know his name because our community has one cop. Thankfully, he doesn’t know my name. Yet.

“Home,” I lie. I am smart enough not to tell him I am rushing to the bar so I can make it before ten o’clock, when the buck-a-beer special ends. In fact, many of my fellow graduates are doing the same beat-the-clock drive, and they offer a sardonic wave as they zoom past my vehicle.

“You were going twenty-two over,” he explains, before taking my license back to the cruiser.

I turn on the radio and hear our prom song, Rod Stewart’s version of “Forever Young.” I lean my head back in resignation and smile: regardless of the cost of this speeding ticket, tomorrow is my prom, the nineteenth hole of my high school career.

My reverie is interrupted by a knock on the window. Officer Noseworthy returns my license, then hands me a carbon copy of my ticket. “Rip this up when I drive away,” he says.

I pause, rewind what he just said, and sputter, “Pardon me?”

“It’s a warning,” he adds before walking away, turning off the red and blue lightshow, and pulling a U-turn to drive away. In hindsight, perhaps I should have heeded the warning more seriously, as a symbol of the impending doom of prom night.

My misadventure has caused me to miss happy hour, but I go to the bar anyway and discover that my classmates have put two beers on layaway for me. In the excitement of explaining my “warning” to several young men who have criminal records thanks to Officer Noseworthy, I forget that Option Z forsook me earlier in the evening. I am an optimist with a short-term memory problem.

~

Late the next afternoon, Option Z arrives at our family farm, sidesteps our golden retriever, and presents me with a pin-on corsage the size of a rose bush. For obvious reasons, this doesn’t work with a strapless gown. My mom attaches an elastic band to the bouquet and lassos the corsage to my wrist. Gravity, which is not to be my friend that night, rotates it to the underside of my arm. Excellent: now I’ve got a grapefruit-sized growth as my biggest accessory, besides my hair. The situation is further complicated by the color combination: a black and hot pink dress accented by a peach rose bush. Despite this minor catastrophe, when we exit the house I am thankful for small miracles: no rifles or shotguns make an appearance.

We drive out of the yard, through the small town, and on to the big city, where we meet friends and climb into the obligatory, tacky stretch limo. Sipping Baby Duck, I realize that I must have missed the health class on strapless bras that my girlfriends obviously attended. Newton’s Second Law of Motion is taking its toll: objects with mass, such as my breasts, fall to the ground when released. I look down at my Flamenco-style dress and recall seeing it in Seventeen magazine on an anorexic with perky breasts. Why didn’t the saleswoman tell me I needed a strapless bra?

One false move and I will become a photo op for National Geographic.

To be continued…

~

Tell me I’m not alone on this one:Have you ever been pulled over by the police? Ever got a speeding ticket?

Reader Interactions

Comments

Have I ever been pulled over by the police? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Erm. Rarely.

The first time was in HS, but–in our rural PA community–it was well-known that a certain Justice of the Peace (working from his home) would excuse a speeding ticket in exchange for graft payment for services rendered. Peace on the home front was surely one of his sworn duties.

The second? I was in California, driving my dream car — a classic (read ancient) ’59 MGA roadster. I loved to speed shift that car up to the max. I talked my way out of that one. I may have batted the baby blues at him, but that would be so unlike me.

I had to marry a cop to get out of future speeding tickets.

Can not wait to hear about your gravity issue. Gravity is why I don’t jog. When I work out, I include PB (Perky Breast) weight exercises. When I jog, I visualize those hold-em-up muscles stretching with each bounce.

I got busted by the cops driving to a H.S. dance with a bottle of Gin in the car. I did some fast talking and got myself out of that one. Of course it cost me the bottle, but oh well. I’m now on pins and needles waiting for part three.

You were so Madonna. Omg! Your hair slays me every time I see that picture. As far as the police go, I did get pulled over. Once. In New Orleans. It. Was. Terrifying. They were the kind of cops you see in movies about the kind of cops they have in Louisiana. Holy crap. Maybe I should write about that. In like 72 hours or something. Why am I afraid you and your “ginger” are gonna get pulled over? Uh oh…

I’m thinking I may scan my prom photo and send it to you. It may make you feel better. I’m bummed that we can’t see your grapefruit-sized-under-the-wrist corsage in the picture, but I like that we still get a sense of the dress color playing against the color of your date’s hair.

I got a speeding ticket my senior year. I was trying to get home by curfew after a date. That was my very first ticket.

We must have been in HS around the same time. The style of hair and dress are frighteningly similar…and I also took a redheaded date (my Junior Prom). I should share a picture. I look as if I could have been your shorter sister.

This series is so fabulous! As fabulous as your hair (and way more fabulous than you uncooperative peach corsage). I can only imagine what part 3 will bring…

I’ve gotten one speeding ticket in my life (well deserved) and one warning. The warning was ridiculous. I was newly licensed (17 – the age you have to be in Jersey!) and waiting to make a left-hand turn in a busy intersection in a posh town near where I grew up. You know when you inch out into the intersection because you won’t get to make your left until the light almost turns red (because there is so much oncoming traffic)? Happens all the time in Jersey, especially in a busy town like this, and you get honked at if don’t. Well, a cop in a black suit and an unmarked car pulled me over right after I made my left! Claimed I turned after the light was red, which is malarkey. My sister drove by and saw me pulled over and crying, ha! He let me off with a warning, but 13 years later, and I’m still ticked off!

I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket. (Takes a break to knock on wood.) I have, however, been pulled over because 1) I didn’t use my left turn signal, I had temporary plates because I’d just bought my 87 Chevy Cavalier, and my guy friend had noticed the cop car driving along and apparently kept turning around to see where the cop was going. Needless to say, I didn’t stay friends with that genius kid for much longer. 2) I wasn’t the original designated driver but my friend asked and I decided I could live with only having 2 beers that night. Once we were done bar hopping, we piled into the car and my friends were to give directions. Given they were “happy,” this did not go well and I thought I was to turn at one light, only to be yelled at “no” and so I veered back into the proper lane. The cop thought this was suspicious but only because of the proximity to the bars. I should note I was completely sober and he didn’t even have me get out of the car to prove it.

I was given a warning in both cases. I almost felt bad for my hometown and college town cops that this was the best they could do in terms of action. Almost.

I have been pulled over by police. Once I was given a mini-lecture by a good-natured cop. Cop: “Didn’t you see that stop sign?” Me: “What stop sign?” (I actually hadn’t seen it.) Cop: “The one with 3-foot high letters.” I gave a nervous laugh. He let me off with a warning. The other times (twice): I was caught up talking with my daughters and wasn’t paying attention to how fast I was going. Ticketed both times – many years ago. Learned my lesson. BTW, I’d have been too nervous to wear a strapless dress. Too much to worry about.

Two summers ago I was pulled over 3x by highway patrol. All gave me warnings. My husband, a city cop, was not overly proud. When I asked how many warnings a person old get before they had to give a ticket he said, “three!!”

Speeding tickets. Yep. Two of ’em, issued by the SAME darned cop, on the SAME stretch of Northern Ontario (think north of Timmins), a week apart. The second time he pulled me over, he peered in and said, “I’d have thought you’d have learned your lesson last week!”

Me: “Well, if I’d known YOU were patrolling, I might have. Hmph!”

Sadly, I was unable to keep this insurance-rising information from my father, who called me in Manitoba week later with this question: ” ELIZABETH! Do you KNOW what TWO $300 speeding tickets do to one’s insurance policy?”